Shroud and Sphere
by Lola Pennington
Summary: Pumped full of embalming fluid, throat slit, smothered and suffocated, the young woman is not quite alive, but she is not dead, either. Just when her tumultuous story should be over does it truly begin.


The corpse trembled as the two paramedics wheeled her down the long, bright hallway on a cold steel gurney with craggy wheels. The lights flashing by overhead lit up her face, a soft and round little pearl of milk, blue at the lips, eyes glassy and cloudy and still wet with little lines of tears.

The two paramedics did not look at each other or speak. There was something strange and sacred about this moment. Young girls simply weren't supposed to die like this. There was no joking, no light-hearted chatter. There was nothing to say.

Perhaps if she'd died some other way, the moment might have been filled with less despondency. Maybe if she'd crashed her car from driving while inebriated. If she'd accidentally overdosed on drugs. Maybe if she'd been in some kind of terrible accident. Accidents, at least, made sense, in their complete senselessness. Anyone was capable of falling victim to the world's random number generator.

Near the end of the hall, Dr. Guthrey, mortician and almost more of a corpse than the dead girl, pulled open the heavy, metal morgue doors to let the paramedics and gurney through. The older pinched his nose shut out of habit, and the younger one groaned faintly as the stench met him.

The three men stood in a triangle around the young woman for a moment. Guthrey picked up the folder of papers tucked underneath the gurney mattress, his glittering old eyes glancing up at the young woman. He, too, was unusually quiet- this death, unlike many before, stilled even the hand of the man that dealt in death. He read quickly, then flipped the folder shut and stared at the corpse. He sighed.

"All right, then," he finally said. "Thank you, gentlemen."

They nodded and left.

Guthrey stared at the corpse for a moment longer, expression torn somewhere between pity and fascination. Then he tugged a pair of too-large gloves over his gnarled hands and plucked a syringe from the rubber top of an unlabeled, brown bottle. He laid the syringe by the body's arm and secured the brakes on the gurney to the cement floor. "Now," he said, and fished out the folder again. He sat it over upon one of the many stainless steel tabletops and flipped it open.

Cause of death: strangulation.

"Mhmm." He dabbed lightly with the Vicks Vaporub, smearing beneath his nostrils. He wiped it clean across his pant legs, and then pressed two fingers against the wicked slice across the girl's neck.

He wet a thick paper towel and delicately cleaned at the blood surrounding the wound. "Bruising across the neck- one hand- her nose is broken, bruising across jaw. He smothered her with one hand and choked her with the other." He sniffed. The Vicks burned in his nostrils. "Strong hands." He glanced at the tape recorder; the machine hummed happily in reply.

Again he pressed his fingers into her neck, this time carefully pulling apart the dark tissue of the wound. "Jugular incision, about three centimeters. Premortem. Only other obvious wounds are abrasions on back and knees, bruising over arms and in pelvic area, general signs of forced vaginal penetration."

He retrieved a pair of shears from a sterile cabinet and began to cut delicately at the fabric of the girl's skirt at her thigh. He pulled carefully at the denim so as to not disturb the wounds beneath, jumping slightly when the corpse made a short gurgling noise.

Guthrey settled the scissors at her side and moved to the torso and head. He turned his head to one side curiously, pinching delicately at her chin to part her lips. Post-mortem gag reflexes kicked in and a mixture of blood and saliva splattered across Guthrey's cheek. The old man grimaced, then left her side to clear the fluid with an alcohol prep pad.

This time, when he pressed down on one cold thigh, the corpse shifted and gave a long, piercing shriek. Her chest expanded rapidly as she inhaled suddenly, like she had finally surfaced from drowning. With a faint, surprised whimper, Guthrey collapsed, the shears still in his hands.

The corpse grasped at her throat where blood suddenly flowed again in little gushes, gasping as she inhaled and shrieking as she exhaled. Instead of slowing, her breaths grew quicker, and she suddenly flailed as her eyes widened and she grew more aware. The gurney toppled loudly onto one side; Leigh fell with it, and the syringe pierced her arm. She gave helpless gurgling noises, and when her throat and mouth finally cooperated to make words, her voice sounded both dead and inhuman.

"Help," she said. The word was hardly recognizable. "Help."

The younger paramedic arrived at the door first, but it took both of their efforts to open it, and the oldest collapsed in shock before he could reach the thing that had been a corpse only a few minutes ago.

...

"I won't lie to you. There's absolutely no reason that you should be alive."

The corpse, her head buzzing with Ativan, didn't respond.

"You have been suffocated, had your neck sliced open, been injected with enbalming prep, and you're still very much alive. Now, since we don't have any records on your family, we're going to keep you under surveillance in a ward here for a week or so, and if everything is all right, we'll release you with a home-health nurse. Are you trying to speak?"

She attempted to crane her neck. The nurse pushed her back down gently by the shoulder.

"Mom," she finally managed. "My—mom."

"We have no records at all on you or your family."

Her eyes saddened, then darkened. "Rainer," she tried.

The nurse shook her head. "None of your family or friends. I'm sorry. We should be able to find something out in the next few days." She picked up the IV drip bag and fiddled with the machinery, ignoring the rest of the corpse's attempts to speak. Before leaving, the nurse wet the girl's lips with a small dab of a balm that she couldn't see, then left the room.

The drugs were quick. She fell dreamlessly asleep.

...

As he crushed her face and closed his fist lovingly around her slick and bloody throat, he whispered against her ear like a lover. He told her where to find him again. But she already knew. He didn't need to say. He never did. She knew where to find him.

"Now," he said.

She echoed the words. They came out mangled through his grip on her shredded throat. He nodded at her.

"Leave now. They will not let you stay here."

It was a warning. She tried to nod in reply, unable to look away from his steely blue eyes. His grip tightened. A small shock of pleasure coursed through her and her eyes fluttered shut.


End file.
